Muted strings of harp music drifted through the ballroom, weaving into the subtle hum of conversation. Soft candlelight, reflected in polished marble floors and gilded columns, lent the gathering an atmosphere of quiet splendor. No direct sunlight reached here; it was evening, and the royal palace's interior glowed with hundreds of enchanted lanterns that cast gentle hues across the assembled guests. The scent of fresh flowers, arranged artfully in tall crystal vases, mixed with the faint aroma of spiced wine and sugared pastries.

Near the entrance, where a few late arrivals still trickled in, several academy students lingered, admiring the grandeur. Some whispered excitedly, elbowing each other and craning their necks to spot well-known nobles or recognize famous guests. Others, more composed, straightened their attire and tried to blend into the throng. The Interstellar Academy had sent its student council officers, and they were allowed to bring companions—an unusual privilege that fueled endless speculation.

Within the heart of the ballroom, Noah Rosweld stood with Kael, Lily, and Mira  close by. He had selected them as his guests, and their presence offered a semblance of familiarity in this sea of opulence. The four formed a small circle, their voices low to avoid drawing too much attention. Even so, some eyes lingered on them—Noah's choice of companions was hardly the noble elite many expected. Instead, he stood with his best friend Kael, his childhood friend Mira, and Lily, whose quiet strength he deeply respected.

Lily, in a simple yet elegant gown of icy blue satin, smoothed an invisible crease at the waist, her pale silver eyes reflecting the soft glow of chandeliers. She tried to conceal her nerves, but her posture remained a touch too rigid. Mira, by contrast, wore a deep red dress that complemented her amber eyes. She carried herself with relaxed confidence, arms occasionally crossing as she surveyed the room with keen interest. Kael sported a tailored suit that emphasized his lean frame, his light gray hair neatly combed, and he looked surprisingly at ease, hands in his pockets as if this royal ball were just another casual gathering.

Noah stood at the center of this trio, his dark brown hair slightly tamed and his glasses perched on his nose. The suit he wore felt somewhat constraining, but he managed to appear composed, heterochromatic eyes calm behind the lenses. He caught the curious glances from various corners of the room and responded with courteous nods whenever someone made eye contact.

Nearby, Crown Prince Lucian Valerius circulated with practiced grace. His silver hair shone under the light, and his piercing blue eyes missed nothing. He greeted foreign dignitaries, conversed with academy professors, and engaged in polite small talk with nobles who approached him. There was an undeniable air of authority in the way he carried himself, a subtle reminder that beneath his student persona lay royal responsibilities.

A few moments later, Lucian guided a towering figure toward a quieter corner of the ballroom—someone who stood out even among the distinguished guests. The man's presence commanded immediate respect. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a formal military uniform adorned with subtle decorations that hinted at his high rank. Short silver-streaked hair framed a face that balanced ruggedness and refinement, and his sharp green eyes assessed the room with the calm focus of a seasoned warrior.

This was Maelstrom Evenhart, Chief Commander of the Royal Army. His reputation preceded him: a master of all weapons, though particularly known for his swordsmanship and Wind Magic prowess. Many considered him the strongest blade in the kingdom, a living legend whose martial skill shaped the army's elite divisions.

Lucian inclined his head politely. "Commander Evenhart, I trust the accommodations meet your standards?"

Maelstrom let his gaze drift over the ballroom before responding. "They do, Your Highness. The atmosphere is pleasant, and the company seems... diverse."

Lucian's lips curved slightly. "It's intentional. The academy's presence is meant to bridge gaps between nobility and new talents."

The commander nodded thoughtfully, crossing his arms. "I see. And how fares your time at the academy? I recall you mentioning it has been enlightening."

"Indeed," Lucian said, his tone measured. "The academy challenges me in ways court life never could. I've learned much, not just academically but also from my peers. There's one student in particular who has caught my interest—and yours, I believe."

Maelstrom raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Noah Rosweld," Lucian continued. "A council officer, and though he might appear unassuming at first, he's shown remarkable potential. He's faced dangerous expeditions, chosen a rather unique weapon during our ceremonial selection, and demonstrated admirable resilience."

The commander's green eyes narrowed slightly. "You mentioned a weapon that intrigued me. The name was Nocturne, correct?"

Lucian inclined his head. "Yes, Nocturne. A long, slender black sword with glowing white streaks. It's said to judge the user's actions, growing heavier if misused. Noah wields it with skill, though he's still growing into his abilities."

"Nocturne..." Maelstrom repeated quietly, as if tasting the name. He looked at Lucian, expression thoughtful. "I recall legends about such blades—artifacts bound by strange vows and conditions. Tell me, Your Highness, does Noah know its true nature?"

"I cannot say for certain," Lucian admitted. "He understands it's unusual, but he may not grasp the full extent of its history or capabilities."

Maelstrom's gaze drifted to the crowd, searching perhaps for the boy in question. He spotted Noah speaking quietly with a young blue-haired girl (Lily) and a brown-haired one in red (Mira), while a light-gray-haired boy (Kael) hovered protectively by. The commander watched for a few seconds, noting their dynamics.

"So he carries Nocturne," Maelstrom murmured, almost to himself. "If it is indeed that blade... then he holds only half of what once was whole."

Lucian frowned slightly. "Half? You believe Nocturne is incomplete?"

The commander's voice dropped to a contemplative hush. "Yes. These weapons of legend—some are said to be fragments, halves, or remnants of something greater. The question is whether this Noah is worthy of finding the other half."

A note of tension lingered in the air at Maelstrom's words. Lucian waited for him to elaborate, but the commander offered no further explanation. Instead, Maelstrom's gaze turned distant, as if recalling old memories or untold stories. This sudden silence left Lucian puzzled, but he respected the commander's discretion.

While Lucian and Maelstrom conversed, the ball continued in full swing. The music shifted to a gentle waltz. Couples gravitated to the dance floor, their movements graceful and synchronized. Gowns twirled, suits shimmered, and laughter occasionally punctuated the melody.

Mira pulled Noah toward the floor with a sly grin. He hesitated, but her amber eyes sparkled with challenge.

"Come on," she teased. "We can't just stand around all night."

Noah surrendered to her lead. He was hardly an experienced dancer, but Mira guided him with subtle nudges. Despite his initial stiffness, they managed a passable rhythm. Nearby, Kael offered Lily a hand, winking playfully as he attempted to show her a few steps. Lily's nervousness melted into shy smiles, and she followed Kael's instructions, trusting his easy confidence.

Around them, nobles whispered. Some recognized Kael's heritage as a Felinor, others wondered why Noah hadn't chosen a more aristocratic companion. Lily's pale silver eyes darted around, noticing their stares, but Noah's calm presence eased her nerves. He caught her gaze over Mira's shoulder and offered a small nod of reassurance.

"Don't mind them," Mira murmured, leaning closer so only Noah could hear. "They always have something to say."

Noah met her amber eyes. "I'm aware."

"I'm glad you invited me," she said, her voice quieter, less teasing. "This place... it's not where we grew up, but it's a reminder of how far we've come."

He smiled softly. "I'm glad too."

Outside on a terrace, Lily took a break from dancing. The cool night air helped steady her nerves. Leaning against the balustrade, she listened to distant music and muffled laughter. Moments later, Noah joined her, his expression thoughtful.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

She turned, her pale silver eyes meeting his. "Yes. Just needed a moment."

"Me too," he admitted, his tone honest. "It's overwhelming."

Lily smiled faintly. "But you're handling it well."

"I'm trying," he said. "It helps knowing I'm not alone in this."

Her cheeks warmed slightly. "We're all here for you."

Noah appreciated her words, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them. In the distance, city lights twinkled, and above, stars shimmered in the clear sky. The serenity of the terrace felt worlds apart from the bustling ballroom.

Back inside, Seraphine—Sera, as Noah now called her—observed the scene from a quiet corner. Her white hair and emerald eyes, partially hidden behind her ornate mask, drew a few curious stares, but most recognized her as the proud and contemplative Chrysalite. She sipped her drink, reflecting on Noah's choice of guests. She recalled their past encounters, the subtle rivalries, and the moments of uneasy respect.

"So he brings them," she thought, watching Noah rejoin the group with Lily and Mira. "Always forging his own path."

She set her glass down, her thoughts drifting. The ball wasn't her preferred environment, yet here she was, engaged in subtle diplomacy and silent assessments.

At another edge of the ballroom, Maelstrom Evenhart observed the younger generation with quiet intensity. He noticed how Noah carried himself—humble yet unyielding. He saw the gentle way Noah interacted with Lily, the comfortable banter with Mira and Kael, and the curious respect he commanded even without noble lineage.

The commander's mind returned to Lucian's words and to the cryptic nature of Nocturne. Half a blade. Was Noah truly capable of finding the other half? Would he even know what that meant?

Maelstrom's green eyes narrowed slightly, tension forming in his jaw. He said nothing, but his thoughts turned inward, recalling old stories and distant lands. He remembered legends of blades that were once whole—an oath-bound pair, fractured through tragedy or time. If Nocturne was one such blade, then what lay dormant in the unknown half?

As the night deepened, the music shifted through various tempos, guests moved in and out of conversations, and delicate pastries circulated on silver trays. Noah ventured from one cluster to another, making polite conversation, occasionally exchanging a few words with nobles who tested his politeness and intelligence. He answered thoughtfully, neither too humble nor too proud.

Mira drifted around, drawing attention effortlessly and deflecting intrusive questions with sharp wit. Kael sampled exotic finger foods with unabashed delight, offering Lily enthusiastic commentary on each new flavor. Lily, having regained some composure, spoke quietly with a group of fellow students, impressed by the depth of their magical theories but never losing track of where Noah stood in the room.

Eventually, Lucian caught Noah's eye from across the ballroom and nodded subtly. Noah, understanding the cue, excused himself from a conversation and made his way to a less crowded area where Lucian stood with Maelstrom.

Lucian greeted Noah with a calm smile. "Enjoying the evening?"

"It's... educational," Noah responded, a light twinkle in his eye.

Maelstrom gave Noah a measured look. Up close, the commander's presence was more tangible—an aura of silent power and latent ferocity kept in check. "Noah Rosweld, is it?"

"Yes, sir," Noah said respectfully.

"I've heard a bit about you," Maelstrom said, his voice steady and authoritative. "Your escapades, your role in the student council... and your weapon."

Noah blinked. "My weapon?"

Lucian placed a hand on Maelstrom's shoulder. "The commander was curious about Nocturne."

Noah's eyes flicked between them. "I see. Nocturne is... unusual, but it suits me well enough."

Maelstrom tilted his head slightly. "You say it suits you. Do you know its origins?"

"Not entirely," Noah admitted. "I only know that it's said to judge the user's actions. If I misuse it, it grows heavier."

The commander nodded thoughtfully. "A blade of judgment. Fascinating."

Lucian watched the exchange, curious but silent.

"If I may ask," Noah ventured, "have you encountered a blade like Nocturne before?"

Maelstrom's gaze hardened a fraction. "I've encountered many weapons, each with its own story. Nocturne might be one of those stories unfinished."

Noah frowned, uncertain what he meant, but before he could inquire further, Maelstrom's attention drifted away.

Lucian cleared his throat. "Commander, you mentioned something about Nocturne being half a blade?"

Maelstrom's eyes lingered on Noah a moment longer before addressing Lucian. "Yes. Some weapons are not whole. They are fragments, halves. If Nocturne is truly what I suspect, then only half lies in Noah's hands."

Noah's pulse quickened at the mention. "Half?"

A shadow of memory flickered across Maelstrom's face. "The true question is whether you are worthy of finding the other half," he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "Or if you can even handle what that means."

Lucian's brow furrowed slightly. Noah's mind spun with questions, but the commander gave no clarification. Instead, Maelstrom's green eyes grew distant, as if recalling a distant battlefield or a story passed down through hushed voices.

The scene ended with Maelstrom stepping away, leaving Lucian and Noah standing in silence. Noah inhaled slowly, the weight of Maelstrom's words pressing upon him.

A sudden shift in perspective: beyond the grand halls of the palace, far from the warmth of lanterns and laughter, a different land spread out under a dark, storm-laden sky. A grey desert wasteland stretched into the distance, dunes of ash-colored sand shifting in a cold wind. The air tasted of despair, carrying the scent of decay and old battles long forgotten.

In this forsaken landscape stood a lone figure. His pitch-black hair framed a face devoid of warmth, white eyes empty yet piercing. Pale skin contrasted starkly with the black cloak draped over his lean frame. He stood amidst a field of lifeless bodies, their forms twisted and broken, weapons scattered like forgotten relics.

At his side, gripped firmly in one hand, was a greatsword unlike any other. Its blade was fractured at the midpoint, broken but held together by a shimmering strand of pure mana. The fracture glowed faintly, a crackling reminder of what the weapon once was.

This was Fractine—the Ill-fated Blade of the Void, once whole but nevermore. Bound through a Vow to the soul of a former wielder, a soul now claimed by the void. Its fragments, though shattered, still clung to a semblance of purpose. The blade hummed with quiet agony, mana coursing through the broken seam.

The figure's voice cut through the eerie silence, low and hollow: "The other half... I must find it."

His words carried a resonance of obsession and determination. Behind him, the heap of bodies bore silent witness to the lengths he would go to. The glow of the fractured blade pulsed like a sick heartbeat, illuminating the desolation for an instant before dimming again.

His white eyes shifted toward the horizon, as if sensing something unseen. The wind picked up, scattering ash and dust around him.

"No matter what," he vowed, each syllable weighted with grim resolve.

And with that whispered oath, the chapter ended, leaving only the memory of a fractured blade and the promise of violence yet to come.

(Haha... its been a bit. Sorry, I honestly got a writers block but I'm back! I do have final exams though but I will get some chapters out soon. Please comment any criticism.)